


Without Question

by lowflyingfruit



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 03:35:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10351419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lowflyingfruit/pseuds/lowflyingfruit
Summary: There is something very wrong with Dick at the moment. He's doing everything Bruce says without a hint of protest. Tim's going to get to the bottom of this.





	

Tim got out of the showers after a long, difficult patrol to find that Bruce hadn't changed out of his own gear, and had instead called Nightwing to discuss matters. "Well, yeah, there's a bit of that in the 'Haven," Nightwing was saying. From the background noise it sounded as though he was still on patrol himself. "I have some information -"

"I need you in Gotham," Bruce interrupted. "Straight away."

"Okay, boss," Nightwing said placidly. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

Bruce grunted at him and hung up. It had been a long, difficult patrol. Even Tim didn't particularly feel like being polite. Robin certainly hadn't. (Not that that excused the rudeness; Tim just knew where it was coming from.) Lucky for Tim, Damian had cleared out for the night. Tim could finish up his reports in peace, un-harangued by an overtired pre-teen, then get a few hours sleep. It'd be good to patrol with Dick sometime soon. That was something to look forward to in a week piled down with classes (had to officially get that MBA sometime) and meetings for Wayne Enterprises.

It was so late it was early, and he had to save all his brainpower for the end-of-night paperwork. Too tired to even go back to his own place, Tim did his reports and stumbled to his bed in his old room in the manor.

What seemed like only minutes later, he stumbled right back out of bed. Coffee. He needed coffee. Coffee could be found where Alfred was. At - he looked blearily over to his clock - nine in the morning, Alfred would be in the kitchen, washing up from Damian's breakfast and preparing Bruce's.

There were voices coming from up ahead. Tim frowned; Alfred almost always listened to music while he worked. The only exception was when there was a cricket match on that he wanted to follow. For a second Tim thought it might actually be cricket, then he realised he recognised the voice. That was Dick speaking, but strung out from tiredness rather than his usual perky self.

Tim poked his head into the kitchen, and sure enough, there was Dick. He looked even worse than Tim thought he might himself. There were shadows under Dick's eyes almost as dark as his Nightwing uniform, and his smile seemed to be waging war against gravity where it was usually effortless. "Hey, Timmy," Dick said.

"I thought you weren't coming over until later this week," Tim said stupidly.

Dick shrugged. "Bruce asked. He said straight away."

"Yeah, but," Tim said. But that meant Dick had got back from patrol, cleaned up, and driven straight to Gotham. "Aren't you tired?"

"Definitely," Dick agreed with a yawn.

"And Master Richard will be going straight to bed for a few hours after he finishes his meal," Alfred said severely, turning from the stove with plates of scrambled eggs for both of them. "You know the rules on sleep deprivation. You should not have driven here yourself."

Dick quailed, just slightly, under Alfred's stern gaze. "Sorry," he said, and then busied himself stuffing his face full of breakfast. Tim was, or tried to be, a bit more dignified, but he had to admit he practically slurped down his coffee. One cup was not enough. He needed to be awake for his meeting. Tim focused on getting himself to a reasonable state while Dick and Alfred chatted.

He was just about to leave when Bruce came in, and halted in the doorway just like Tim had. "Dick?"

"Good morning, Bruce," Dick said through a yawn. While he was distracted, Alfred swapped out Dick's coffee for what looked suspiciously like warm milk.

"What are you doing here?"

"You asked me to come," Dick said. "Here I am. You mind if I take a nap before we get down to business?"

"No," Bruce said. "Get some sleep, Dick."

"Right," Dick said, and got up from the table, leaving his milk untouched. "Thanks for breakfast, Alfred."

"All in a day's work, Master Richard."

Tim waved his fork in a goodbye and went back to the reports he needed to reread before speaking to anyone about them.

 

 

\---

 

 

When Tim got back and went down to the cave to do some training, Dick, Damian, and Bruce were all down there. Bruce was working on the computer. Dick and Damian were sparring. Dick was laughing. Damian didn't sound anywhere near so amused, but then, Dick was ruthlessly abusing his greater height and better vertical leap. He was wiping the floor with Damian.

Tim was petty enough to enjoy it. Damian had tried to kill him and was an arrogant little shit besides; he figured he was entitled to enjoy seeing a bit of humbling going on.

"That's enough," Bruce said. "Ground work now, Dick."

Dick turned his landing into a neat forward roll. "Got it, B," he said, and before Damian could react, dropped and swung to kick Damian's legs out from under him. Damian recovered well, pushing himself into a backwards handspring and getting some distance.

Figuring he'd seen the funniest part already, Tim started on his own training. He couldn't afford to skip his strength training in particular. Unlike some people, he didn't have superior genes, and he just didn't pack on muscle like everyone else in the family did. It was unfair, but there was nothing Tim could do about it except not skip strength training. He got to the repetitive work of lifting weights, keeping an ear on the more entertaining training session to help alleviate the monotony.

After a while, in which Damian got his ass kicked a bit less soundly, Damian said, "Should we not move on to weapons training?"

Of course he'd want to move on to weapons. He was better with them than he was with hand-to-hand.

"Sorry, little D," Dick replied. "Your dad said we should practice fighting from the ground."

"We have done ground fighting," Damian said, obviously frustrated. "We should move on."

"There's always more ground fighting to practice," Dick said cheerfully.

Tim didn't see it, because he was looking at his weights, but there was a thump that sounded an awful lot like Damian getting dumped on his ass again. Music to his ears.

"Enough," Damian snapped, from somewhere a bit closer to the ground than his voice usually came from. "I demand we take a breather, Grayson."

"Oh, Dami," Dick said. "You're old enough to know when the right time to insist on a break is, you don't have to wait for me to give you permission. Of course. We'll get back to it when you're rested up."

He didn't hear Damian leave. Nobody in this family ever heard any other member of the family leave a room, except for Alfred with his magic butler powers. All the same, he knew when Damian had left because that was when Dick came over and said, "I'll spot you on the bench."

"Okay," Tim said. "Thanks."

When Tim was settled in and lifting, Dick asked, "So what's the rush? Why'd B need me here straight away?"

"Illegal gambling and loan sharks," Tim said. "They're being cautious, moving around, using texts from burner phones to contact their clients. We haven't figured out the pattern yet." There was always a pattern. Four sets of eyes on the problem was better than three.

"You want me to sweet-talk Babs into helping out as well?"

"No need."

Dick shrugged. "If you say so."

Tim finished up on the bench before Damian returned, freeing Dick to do his own training. His flexibility routines were insane. Tim could play a mean game of Twister (and once they'd all sobered up he had told the rest of Young Justice,  _never again_ ), but he had nothing on Dick in this regard. Dick had just folded himself into a particularly complicated-looking knot when Bruce spoke. "Nightwing, a word."

"Sure, B," Dick said, and untwisted himself with a wince.

"You all right?" Tim asked, from an odd position in a stretch of his own.

"Yeah, just came out of it too soon. I'll be fine."

He could have waited, Tim thought, but impatience was Nightwing all over.

 

—

 

 

Patrol was, once again, long and difficult. Even with Nightwing there. He'd been cheerful as usual, but a bit less than effective. The only good thing that could be said for it was that Bruce and Dick hadn't had their usual spats. Sometimes going on patrol with them both was like dropping into the middle of a different sort of fight.  _You're too impatient_ was followed by  _you won't tell me anything straight_ was followed by  _stay close by_  was followed by  _Robin and I are fine on our own_ and so on and so forth, for hours. Sometimes it made Tim want to scream at both of them.

"We need to do better," Bruce grated out, as they all unmasked and started on the end-of-night routines.

"We will, Bruce," Dick said, pacifying. "Not every night is a smashing success."

His words were met only by matching Wayne scowls from Bruce and Damian. Damian even made his tt sound at Dick and walked off. He must have been angry. Tim was just happy not to be the target this time. If Damian was lashing out at Dick, of all people...he left Bruce and Dick conducting their postmortem and headed to the showers to clean up.

He was on his way up to the kitchen when there was a tug at the hem of his sweatshirt. Tim whipped around, ready to attack -

\- okay, it was Damian, staring up at him with big, blue, surprisingly vulnerable eyes, but Tim didn't drop his guard. That was just asking for a surprise attack and a bloody, painful scratch somewhere very visible (proof that he was 'unworthy,' as far as Damian was concerned). "What?" he demanded. It had been a long night and he was tired; he wasn't in the mood for any of Damian's games.

"There is something wrong with Grayson," Damian said.

"What?"

Damian scowled, but Tim could still see the worry in his face. "There is something  _wrong_ with  _Grayson_ ," he repeated. "Ever since he's come here he's done everything Father says, immediately, without arguing."

"That's ridiculous," Tim said. "They hardly do anything but argue." Ever since Tim had known them both, anyway, and he'd asked Alfred once. Apparently Bruce and Dick had argued over this, that, and the other, ever since Dick was about fourteen.

Now that he thought of it, though...Tim frowned. Dick had shown up at the Manor awfully fast. Like he'd said, he'd finished up patrol and come straight to Gotham. Didn't even tell Bruce to use words like please and thank you. And during training that afternoon, as soon as Bruce said something, Dick implemented it. He'd barely made a peep of protest to Bruce's plans on patrol - no, wait, he hadn't made  _any_. How had he missed that? That wasn't like Dick at all!

"Exactly," Damian said, and not even something being very wrong with Dick could stop him sounding smug. "Now, what is wrong with him?"

There were oh so many possibilities, most of them very bad. "This isn't a discussion to have here," he said. "Get the footage from the Cave and meet me at my place in ninety minutes." That would save him time in transit with Damian, always a good thing. Damian nodded and headed back down the stairs. Tim continued upwards, no longer searching for a post-patrol snack but heading for his hidden files on various known villains with mind-bending powers. Perhaps going straight to mind control was an overreaction but better safe than sorry.

Poison Ivy was in Arkham. Tim hadn't seen Dick wearing anything on his head that Jervis Tetch could be controlling him through. Tim had also seen Dick on fear gas, and total obedience to someone else had never been on the list of fears he'd expressed. The symptoms didn't match any of them.

They'd need to test Dick more. It would be difficult if not impossible to adequately control any experiments, but they'd have to try. They had to fix this.

Most of his files were back at his apartment. Tim was exhausted, but he pushed on anyway, first back to his home, and then to make his way through the files. Mind-controlled Dick was not a pleasant prospect. Everyone trusted him, with more or less everything. If he was compromised it would be a security disaster.

Worse, whatever was wrong with Dick, it was making him obey. Tim suppressed a shudder at the thought. Anyone would hate that. Dick more than most.

He was still brooding over that when Damian came in through his window, barely even bothering with stealth. "I have the data," he announced.

"Let's get to work then," Tim replied.

 

 

—

 

 

Tim came to with his keyboard digging into his forehead. When he lifted his head the first thing he saw was a seventy-page document of notes consisting mostly of the letter t; there was a change to the letter r two-thirds of the way through, when Tim must have shifted slightly in his sleep.

When he turned his head to the right, the first thing he saw was Damian asleep on his sofa, still in full Robin gear. That brought him all the way awake. He couldn't believe he'd gone to sleep with Damian in the same room. That was stupid of him. Why had he done that?

He deleted the sixty pages he'd 'written' in his sleep. That was right. Dick, potentially mind-controlled and far too obedient to Bruce right now for anyone's comfort. He'd fallen asleep mid-summary of Dick's last mission before coming to Gotham, tracking down an industrial saboteur with Oracle. He flipped back a few pages of reports. They were all pretty mundane. Drug dealers, muggers, a protection racket (shut down with a vengeance). There was the night Tim had dropped by Bludhaven to patrol with him and get some advice on predicting Harley Quinn's moves in a fight. He'd worked with Jason for a few days when a couple of out-of-town arms dealers went through Bludhaven. Nothing that screamed  _here is the reason why Dick is listening to and obeying Bruce's every word._

Damian stirred on the sofa. His tablet landed on the carpet with a soft thunk. Tim inched closer to retrieve it, and that was enough to bring Damian to full wakefulness. "Drake," he hissed, bringing his hands back down from an attack position.

His heart was pounding in his chest at the threat, but Tim kept his cool and didn't take it seriously. Damian had been trained into waking up like that. "You fell asleep," he said.

"Obviously," Damian sneered at him, shifting a little, uncomfortably. "Did you make progress?"

"A little. Nothing stands out. You?"

"Nothing stands out," Damian repeated. He accepted his tablet back and set it down on Tim's coffee table rather harder than was good for it. At this rate Damian would break it clean in two. "His body language has not changed in the slightest. Grayson's... _subservience_ is entirely verbal."

What the lack of difference meant was anyone's guess.

"What time is it?" Damian demanded suddenly.

"Hmm? Oh. Eight in the morning."

Damian cursed. "I need to return before I am missed."

"Your dad is Batman. You've already been missed." More to the point, someone knew where Damian had gone, or their phones would have exploded from vibrating too much. That was if someone hadn't come to the window to drag Daman back by either the scruff of his neck or his stupid hood. "You might as well stay here a few more hours and help."

Damian seemed to accept the argument, because he nodded sharply and resumed his analysis without another word. Well, it wasn't as though Tim had invited Damian over because of his pleasant, easygoing company and scintillating conversation. He detoured into the kitchen to get a cup of coffee (automatic timers on coffee pots were the greatest invention of the past fifty years, in Tim's opinion), ducked into his equipment cupboard to get Damian a change of clothes, and got back to work himself.

An hour later the doorbell rang, followed by loud knocking. "It's Dick," Tim said.

"Tt, of course it is," Damian hissed back at him. "Who else would make such a racket after ringing a perfectly functional doorbell?"

At least he hadn't come through the window. There was that. "I'll get the door, you hide the research." Without looking back to see if Damian was following instructions, Tim headed out to open the door, with a great sense of trepidation. "Hey, Dick."

It was indeed Dick at the door, bag from a local bakery in one hand. "Hi, Tim! You're up early!"

"I have a guest. Damian's here."

Dick nodded. "I know. I thought I'd trade you some doughnuts for him."

"Done," Tim said immediately. Damian or pastries? It wasn't a hard choice. Moreover, under normal circumstances he'd take the first opportunity to rid himself of the little demon's company, and he'd rather not tip Dick (not-Dick) off to their suspicions even if for once he wouldn't mind having Damian around to help research. Mind control or no mind control, Dick had only posed a threat to Damian's ego thus far. "You can have him."

"Excellent!" Dick beamed at him. "Where is he?"

"Here," Damian said. "Did Father tell you to retrieve me?"

Tim resisted the temptation to facepalm.  _Real subtle there, Damian._ But Dick just turned that blinding smile on Damian and said, "Yep. Time to head back."

"Very well." Damian glared up at him. "But you shall refrain from hugging me or making any other displays of physical affection."

Oh, that was better. That was much better.

Dick just laughed and promptly put Damian in an affectionate headlock, the better to ruffle his hair from. Tim breathed out a sigh of relief as Damian struggled against the hold and insisted "Unhand me, Grayson!" Dick held on exactly long enough to make a point of it, and Damian returned to a more upright position, glaring at Dick - and, as they left, shooting Tim a meaningful glance.

Test conducted. Dick wasn't obeying everything Damian said, at least.

 

—

 

 

The next stop in Tim's research tour was Oracle. She'd worked with Nightwing most recently of them. It seemed logical. And if there was something wrong with Dick (there had to be) she would have noticed.

He buzzed himself through the clocktower until he reached the woman herself, hard at work. "What can I do for you, Tim?" she asked, barely looking away from her monitors.

“Have you noticed anything wrong with Nightwing recently?” he asked.

“Can’t say that I have,” she said. “What’s the matter?”

Tim hesitated, but then said, “He’s not acting like himself.”

Barbara sat bolt upright and wheeled around to face him. “What’s wrong?”

“He’s doing everything Bruce says. He’s not even arguing. Just yes Bruce, no Bruce, three bags full, Bruce.” It was creepy. And frightening.

“Seriously?” Barbara asked.

“Seriously,” Tim confirmed. “Bruce told him to come to Gotham, he dropped everything except patrol and came right here. Bruce told him to get some sleep because he’d driven up from Bludhaven right after patrol, he did. Bruce told him how to train Damian, he went right along with it.”

A deep frown started to furrow Barbara’s forehead. “That’s…not like him at all.”

“No kidding.”

She hit a few keys and said, “I’ve emailed you my mission logs, because he wasn’t like that with me last week. I’ll look into it myself. I have a few avenues you guys might not.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. He’d already got into Bruce’s files.

“What?” Barbara said. “You think he tells Bruce everything?”

“At the moment?” Tim asked.

Promise extracted, Tim headed over to the Manor. He was planning to keep an eye on Dick. At least he wasn’t constantly obeying _anyone_ to give him an order, _thank you Damian for proving that_ , but having to obey even one person was one too many. Besides, at the Manor was someone else who could help him out.

Alfred was in the kitchen again. “Master Timothy,” he said, pleased. “How good of you to drop by two days in a row.”

“Where’s Dick?” he asked.

Alfred raised his eyebrows. “Is something the matter?” He said it with both concern, and the distinct tone of _you better have a good reason for forgoing your manners_.

“I just need a few words,” Tim explained.

The raised eyebrow did not subside. “In that case, he is downstairs. You will have five minutes at the very least.” The tone of _you are treading dangerously close to trouble, young man_ , didn’t go away either.

“Have you noticed Dick acting strangely since he got back?”

“No more strangely than he usually does,” Alfred said dryly. “I personally have observed no behaviour inconsistent with his general character.”

Tim _stared_. “Then how come he’s doing everything Bruce says?” he asked. “You were the one who told me not to worry the first time they had a screaming match downstairs! You said they did that every other week or so!”

“When Master Richard was some years younger and before Master Damian required, shall we say, parental guidance from him. I’m afraid I may have given you the wrong impression, Master Timothy. Richard does not disagree with Master Bruce about everything, nor does he defy Master Bruce on general principles. At least,” he correctected himself, when Tim raised an eyebrow right back at him, “he does not _often_ defy Master Bruce on general principles, _anymore_.”

At this rate, Tim thought, they’d have to start worrying whether Alfred was under the influence of whatever was controlling Dick. “Just let me know if you notice anything, please?”

“Certainly, Master Timothy.”

This was going to be more difficult than anticipated.

 

—

 

So naturally, he called Jason. Why not? He was already dealing with one difficult and potentially murderous brother. He might as well make it two. “‘Sup, Replacement?” Jason said groggily. He probably woke Jason up. Too bad.

“Oh, not much,” Tim said. “Just a minor matter of Dick possibly being mind-controlled.”

He heard clattering and scrambling from over the earpiece. It sounded like Jason had sat up in a hurry and - yes - tripped over a blanket of some sort, from the cursing. “What?” Jason demanded, when the racket had subsided. “Say _what_?”

“What,” Tim replied.

“Shut the fuck up, smartass. You just called me to say that Dickiebird might be _mind-controlled_. Explain.”

“He’s doing everything Bruce says.”

“Yeah, so?” Jason asked. There was more clattering, a bit more kitchen-like in nature. A microwave being put on, a bowl being retrieved from a cupboard, a fridge opening. Tim somehow thought that Jason wasn’t taking this entirely seriously. “It’s Dick. That’s what he _does_.”

Tim rolled his eyes, even though he knew Jason wouldn’t be able to see it. Force of habit. “Just because he agrees with Bruce about killing doesn’t mean he does what Bruce says all the time. I’m serious. He’s doing _everything_ Bruce says, _right away_. No fighting on patrol, no arguing about Damian’s training, no telling Bruce to ask nicely or take a hike, no outright ignoring the orders he doesn’t like, nothing. _Damian_ is worried about it.”

Silence on the other end of the line, except for the hum of the microwave. At last, Jason said, “Okay, sounds serious. What do you want from me?”

“Well, I _was_ going to ask you if you’d noticed anything odd about him when you patrolled together last, but apparently not.”

“Sue me. Whenever we hang out he’s a real stick in the mud.” The microwave beeped, and Tim heard the phone shift. “I’ll tag along on patrol tonight and keep an eye on him with the rest of you. How’s that?”

Potentially disastrous. “More than I asked for, but all right. Just - look, just don’t pick a fight with Bruce over this, yeah?”

 

—

 

It was almost dinnertime before Damian got back. Dick had dragged him somewhere, to do something. Tim didn’t care. He only cared what Damian had to say. “I am now positive Grayson is not compelled to obey me, at least,” Damian whispered to him. “I tested him several times while we were out.”

“I’ll try it at dinner,” Tim replied. “Alfred and Babs both said they haven’t noticed anything unusual, and Jason’s going to meet us in town tonight.”

“Should we discuss this with Father?” Damian asked.

Damian must be _petrified_ if he was asking that. “I’ll bring it up,” he said. Neither of them really wanted Nightwing slavishly obeying Batman on patrol. That was likely to end up with so many more scared civilians, and him and Robin shunted to the sidelines for more safety than they’d signed up for. And that in turn meant it was that much more likely for Batman and maybe even Nightwing himself to get hurt. Unacceptable.

“Tt, I do not need you to do _everything_ ,” Damian sneered at him.

Dinner was awkward, no thanks to Tim’s co-conspirator, who spent the entire meal grinding his teeth and shooting angered glances at Dick. He seemed to be taking the whole thing personally. Tim almost pitied the first person to get in his way.

Unless, Tim thought as he watched Dick stop talking the very instant Bruce waved for quiet to hear Damian say something, unless it was whoever had done this to Dick. Then he might join in.

When Dick launched into a story about a bust he’d made last week, Tim saw his chance. “Tell me about the stakeout,” he said.

Dick didn’t. Thank god. The last thing Tim wanted was the burden of Dick’s absolute obedience. It looked as though it was only Bruce he was being made to obey.

When they went downstairs after eating, Bruce said, “Dick, get ready and take Damian out. I need to talk to Tim.”

“On it, boss,” Dick said cheerfully.

Tim shuddered the second Dick’s back was to them, then turned to Bruce. Bruce, for his part, jerked his head in an indication that they should get out of earshot. “You’ve noticed it too,” he said, once they were.

“Yeah,” Tim said.

“Any progress?”

“I asked Babs and Alfred if they’d noticed. They both said no, but Babs will keep an eye on him. I read his reports for the last three weeks and he hasn’t reported running into the usual mind-benders. As far as I can tell, he’s only obeying you. Damian and I have both tested it.”

Bruce nodded. “I suspect a curse,” he said. “Fewer traces, and it would allow the specificity.” He looked disgusted with himself. “It does seem to be only me he’s obeying.”

“Are you going to let him out on patrol?”

Bruce scowled. “I don’t want to. But I can’t stop him short of telling him _no_ , and you see the problem with that. It’s one thing to tell him to pass the salt, another to tell him not to do something I _know_ he wouldn’t want to do if he had the option of arguing.”

His heart sank. “So what’s the plan?”

“We take him out and do our best not to get him in harm’s way,” Bruce said grimly. “I’ve left a message with Zatanna. We can only hope that she knows more about this than we do. No matter what, we cannot leave Dick like this.”

 

—

 

“So what did B need to talk to you about?” Nightwing asked, as they made their way across the Gotham rooftops. “Anything important?”

“Not particularly. Just a case.”

Nightwing grinned, bright and carefree. It was sick. This wasn’t right. How could he look so happy? “Just a case?”

“Just a case.”

“Not the one we’re working on?”

“Indirectly related,” Tim said. Inasmuch as he was here getting this problem investigated because of their friends in the gambling vans. “We’ll tell you if it comes up.”

Nightwing pouted. He could do that. In a mask. And it _still worked_. “Aww, but I hate being left out.”

“Sorry,” Tim said. “I don’t think it will, if that helps.”

“I suppose I can forgive you,” Nightwing smiled. “But only if you race me to the rendezvous point.”

“You’re on.”

They set off at top speed, heading towards the van Bruce had assigned them to observe (taking Damian himself). Splitting up had been a good move, Tim thought. He knew Bruce didn’t trust himself not to reflexively snap off an order, abusing the power he currently had over Dick. Safer to just let them handle their own parts of this mission. He wondered when and where Jason would show up.

Dick let him win their race. It cheered him up a bit, but not for the reason Dick might have thought. Dick letting him win was something Dick always did. At least he was behaving like normal in this.

Then it was down to business. They had their van. They could go in, tie up everyone involved, and leave them for the cops. Or they could wait until the van left and follow it back to their base. They needed to find whoever was running this.

“This reminds me of a Cobblepot operation,” Nightwing said. “He uses vans in the ‘Haven sometimes, for arms dealing. Parks them in places like this and just waits for the customers.”

“I suppose it could be the Penguin,” Tim said. Cobblepot hadn’t been involved in the illegal gambling scene in Gotham since Two-Face took control of it for his income. That said… “He’d like to get back into the gambling business, and he has been gearing up for something.”

They peered over the edge of their rooftop. “Any known associates?” Nightwing asked.

“Not that we’ve picked up.” And if he was Cobblepot, and he was trying to get back into illegal gambling, he’d keep the operation anonymous until Two-Face had flailed around and wasted his resources trying to determine whether it was him or Black Mask running the vans.

Nightwing grinned again. “Let’s get closer, shall we?”

Without waiting for any sort of _yes_ or _no_ , Dick hopped down a ledge and slipped towards a place on the roof that offered a better view, if not more concealment.

Over the comm, Batman asked, “What’s Nightwing doing?”

So he hadn’t split up. He hadn’t been able to resist himself, and had tagged along to make sure Nightwing didn’t get hurt. This, in spite of the fact the greatest danger to Nightwing right now was Batman himself. Typical Bruce, really.

“Getting in closer,” Tim reported.

He heard Bruce growl. “Nightwing, stop,” he said.

Nightwing stopped on a dime, almost overbalancing, but catching himself quick and silent as a cat. He did not protest the order, but rather looked around for Batman.

“Batman!” Tim said, because Nightwing wouldn’t. 

Across the road, he saw Batman moving to a new position, trying to gain a vantage point on Nightwing, rather than the van below. Meanwhile, Nightwing hadn’t reached a good position of cover, and was exposed on the rooftop. “Uh, boss, was there anything else you needed?” he asked.

“Get down,” Batman snapped, and Nightwing duly threw himself behind a low railing.

It wouldn’t even have been necessary if Bruce could stop hovering for thirty goddamn seconds. All that had accomplished was to put Dick at risk for a few moments and abuse a position of power. “This is ridiculous,” Tim said.

“I concur,” Robin added. “Nightwing should not be out on patrol in this state.”

Nightwing looked up, a frown of confusion creasing his brow. “What state is that, Robin?”

“Tt!”

Batman made his way across the road to hunker down next to Nightwing. Tim and Damian followed, until they were all behind the same low railing. “I am referring to your new tendency to obey every direct order I give you,” Batman ground out, clearly upset. With himself, Tim would bet.

Nightwing tilted his head to the side, and said, “But don’t I always obey you?”

Bruce’s jaw twitched. Robin looked away. Tim searched Dick’s face for some indication, any indication, that he wasn’t serious.

Nightwing started to laugh. Deep and real, from the stomach. He laughed so hard he _fell over_ , toppling to the cement of the rooftop with a soft thud. Robin rushed to his side, while Batman watched impassively - and, Tim thought, confusedly. Tim tried to keep half an eye on the criminals below them, but Nightwing was still laughing.

Eventually he sat back up and said, “I’m okay.” He brushed off Robin’s attempt to help him to his feet, hit his comm, and said, “Okay, Hood, you can come out now.”

Boots hit the ground behind them, no effort to be stealthy. “Okay, okay, you made your point,” he said. “You _dick_.”

“A bet’s a bet,” Dick said smugly. “Pay up.”

Grumbling, Jason handed over a wad of bills.

“ _And_ you have to stick around for patrol,” Dick said.

“Ugh, fine.”

Nightwing stood with a broad grin. “Now that that’s sorted, I think I see a better rooftop.” 

He fired his grapple off hardly looking. Batman stepped forward and said, “Nightwing, wait -“

“Not a chance, boss,” Dick said cheerfully. “See you on the next roof.”

 

—

 

Unsurprisingly, Damian was extremely annoyed for the rest of patrol. Tim didn’t like it either - they had been _really worried!_ \- but unlike some people he could manage not to sulk about it for hours on end. “So it was all a joke,” Damian said to Tim, as they went upstairs for their post-patrol snack. Dick was still downstairs, getting chewed out by Bruce for playing such an irresponsible joke.

Jason, showing a lot of good sense, had made a break for it. Successfully, too.

“Seems like it,” Tim said.

Neither Jason nor Dick could escape some sort of retaliation for this. Tim was determined. The only question was what. (Bruce was already making Dick apologise to Zatanna in person for wasting her time. Or trying to, at least.)

"Foolishness," Damian snapped. "They will both pay for this."

Alfred appeared in front of them, bearing snack. "Pay for what, Master Damian?"

"That asinine joke of theirs!"

But while Damian snarled, Tim watched Alfred. "You knew about it," he said, watching the butler's face carefully for a reaction. "You told me you'd 'observed no behaviour inconsistent with his general character.' You knew what he was doing, and you knew he had a bet with Jason about it."

"Indeed I did," Alfred confirmed, unruffled. "Master Richard informed me when he arrived from Bludhaven, for safety's sake and a neutral arbiter. I believe he informed Miss Gordon as well. The precise nature of the wager was that he could make you two, Master Timothy, Master Damian, and Master Bruce, confront him about his obedience within three days of Bruce next giving him a direct order." Not quite unruffled. Alfred looked  _amused_. "I take it that he won."

"'course I did, Alfred, you know how Bruce and I get along."

"Like two wet cats in a sack, as often as not," Alfred sighed.

"Exactly that well."

Damian, however, seemed to finally have had enough, and launched himself at Dick feet-first. Bad idea, when fighting Dick. He just sidestepped and caught Damian. "Traitor," Damian accused him.

Dick's reply was a hug. Dick was a brave man. "Aww, Dami, I'd do exactly the same thing to mess with you," he said. "I didn't mean to upset you guys. I was only trying to wind Jason up. If Bruce had told me to do anything I really disagreed with, or was too dangerous, I'd've called the bet off."

Damian slumped slightly. "Marginally acceptable," he declared.

It was only after snacks had been consumed that Tim caught up with Dick, finally away from Damian. He didn't  _have_ these conversations when Damian was around. "We really were worried about you," Tim said.

"I realise that now," Dick said quietly. "I'm sorry."

"We were thinking mind-control. Or magic."

"Bruce told me." He smiled, a little forced. "Did you have all your contingency plans drawn up?"

Too many of them ended up with Dick dead. Even a day thinking that he couldn't trust Dick had been awful. "Yes," he said. But, since Dick had apologised, and because it  _had_ been funny watching Jason sulk almost as bad as Damian did, he added, "It would have been a lot of redesigning security protocols, so I'm glad you weren't. I'd've been on the computers for weeks."

"Me too," Dick said. The smile lost a bit of its forced quality. "Would you like to join in next time I wind up Jason?" he asked. "Anything I pull will be better thought through if you help out."

He had revenge to plan (he was thinking maybe raiding Dick's wardrobe in the manor for his old fashion choices, maybe threaten to give Jason the picture of Dick in that polka-dot shirt), but the offer was attractive. Messing with Jason was something he liked to do too. And why not both, actually? "Anything you say, Dick," he said, and was rewarded with laughter.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, and any feedback you might leave!


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